


Anarchy

by Ipierceallslash



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, High School, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ipierceallslash/pseuds/Ipierceallslash
Summary: There's something strange about the international students, and Harry's sure they have something to do with all the fire and the crazy visions. And when the strange blond boy from his room shows up at school the next day, Harry's convinced he's lost it. He doesn't know what any of this is, he just hopes that whatever it is is, it isn't going to kill him.A high school type AU with no magic....well, it's a different type of magic.





	Anarchy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, 
> 
> This is my first fic on this site and my first official Drarry. I've had this idea for ages and thought it was about time I got off my arse and gave it a go. Things might seem uneventful now, but I promise it will get better! 
> 
> There are no major warnings as of yet: minimal mentions of mental illness, minor violence, and typical teenage angst. 
> 
> This is an eventual Drarry but just give our boys some time!
> 
> The story is an AU...SO canon? Don't know what that is! 
> 
> ** DISCLAIMER **: Harry Potter is not mine, has never been mine, and will sadly, never be mine. 
> 
> Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

“I swear I heard it. It was louder than last time.”

The voice was as clear as day and although the other boy, who stood no more than a meter away, rolled his eyes at the statement, Harry Potter stood his ground.

“I’m serious Ron. I’m positive this time.” He was cautious of sounding overly whingey but with this being the fifth time this week, he was aware it was a lost cause. Ron was not keen on granting him further attention, but Harry was persistent and refused to drop his narrowed gaze.

In response, Ron spilled the contents of his lunch bag onto the cafeteria table, lazily tearing off the seal of his pudding cup. “When you’re done taking the piss, can we please figure out what we’re going to do about going into London this weekend?” Oblivious to his best friend’s glare, he licked the excess pudding off of the lid before shoving a spoon into the cup.

“Yes, but mate I’m quite serious about all-” He’s swiftly cut off by a plastic spoon being waved in his face, drops of chocolate splashing onto his jumper.

“I already gave Fred 50 quid and I’m taking on George’s toilet duties this month, your welcome by the way,” he added with a raised brow, “So now you have to find a cover to get your aunt and uncle to let you come.”

Harry groaned loudly, his eyes closing for a couple of seconds before, once again, shoving the voice to the back of his brain.

“I’m going to need a miracle to pull that off. They’re still on my arse for the broken window.” He sighed and pried open his own lunch bag.

“But that was Dudley,” Ron pointed out and Harry didn’t understand the confusion in his voice.

“When has that ever mattered really? A night maybe but the whole weekend? I don’t know Ron,” he pulled the sole apple from inside and took a bite. “I think you’re going to have to bring one of the twins instead.”

“Fred and George at an Arsenal match? Ha.” Ron slammed the now empty pudding cup onto the table. Harry shrugged because it didn’t sound like the worst possible suggestion.

“Oh, you’re serious? Bloody hell Harry, now I know you’ve gone completely mental. Fred and George at an Arsenal match,” He shook his head in disbelief.

Harry shrugged again, fully aware that it would take a miracle for him to go. “I’ll try to lay low the rest of this week but Uncle Vernon has been hounding me for everything. This morning he barked at me for getting up for a drink of water last night.” It had been quite ridiculous, so much so that Harry thought he had been joking at first. He quickly remembered, however, that Uncle Vernon did not joke, especially not with his nephew. He hadn’t even known how to respond other than offering a half-hearted apology for being so incredibly thirsty. That only earned him a tighter after-school curfew for the remainder of the week.

“I reckon you can just pour a cup the night before Harry. Blimey, pour yourself a ‘ozen if i’ means you can go oo ‘e ma’ch!” Ron, ever so decorous, tore open his packet of Jaffa Cakes before shoving one into his mouth. Pieces of cake flew in all directions.

With a quick flip of the bird, Harry grabbed a cake for himself and shook himself free of Ron’s crumbs. “Like I said, I’ll try and lay low, now, can we please talk about the voice because I could swear last night-”

“Ah! Saved by the bell.” Ron stood up quickly, ignoring Harry’s glare. “Gotta go. Mr. Payne will dock me points if I’m late again. Bye ‘arry.” He shoved another two cakes into his mouth, rammed everything back into his lunch bag, and scurried away. What a wanker thought Harry, but he couldn’t totally blame the redhead for avoiding the subject altogether. He was starting to sound like a total madman with the insistence of voices that no one else heard.

Harry had met Ron in Year 4. Harry hadn’t been too hopeful for friends considering Dudley had made it his life’s mission to prevent his cousin from forming any type of relationships. So when Ron, new to Little Whinging Primary and obvious to Dudley Dursley’s rule of the playground, spotted the only other lonely boy out in the yard, he made his way over and offered him a Hobnob. It wasn’t until after a friendly bond was formed that Ron caught whiff of the rumours surrounding his friend. Harry Potter, the orphan boy of Little Whinging, was an utter freak. The scar on his forehead, according to his fellow classmates, was the touch of the devil (although Harry quickly clarified for Ron that no, he wasn’t Satan’s spawn but rather an unfortunate victim of a car crash), which allowed him to communicate with the dead. Now, there was some truth to that. Harry could acknowledge how it must have looked to everyone else- a lonely orphan boy laughing, crying, and screaming when no one else was around. He was eight when he decided that blocking out the voices was the only way he could make any attempts at a normal life. It was also the safest route to avoid harsher punishments from his uncle. That was also the same year he met Ron. After that, only Ron was privy of knowing what the voices in Harry’s head were up to. Yet, as they grew older, the less Ron wanted to hear about it and the less Harry shared. And despite the jokes, Ron never mocked Harry about the voices or the dreams. He was just keener on sweets and football these days. But what teenage boy wasn’t, Harry thought.

Still feeling uneasy but not knowing what else to do, Harry stored the rest of his apple and left for his next class of the day.

Four hours later and Ron was waiting at Harry’s locker where the boy had been due ten minutes ago. With the realization that Dudley and his cronies probably had something to do with this, Ron slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to go look for the bloody plonker. But then he saw a disarray of black hair as it made its way towards him.

“Blimey mate, what happened to you?” Harry didn’t respond as he struggled to put in the combination for his lock. He tried and failed three times before he gave up and angrily slammed his fists against the metal. He ignored the dirty looks he received from his peers and stomped his foot loudly.

Ron coughed to air out the tension and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder as he guided him out of the way so he could unlock it for him. “Er- what happened to your glasses?” He thought that was a safer bet than asking him why he was sporting a purple bruised ring around his left eye.

“Thanks.” Harry murmured, prying the door open before he shoved all of his belongings inside. He reached into his trousers' pockets to pull out his freshly broken glasses.

“Shite….It was Dudley wasn’t it?” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a go at Harry’s glasses, but Harry shook his head in response and handed Ron the broken remains as he rummaged his locker for tape.

“Crabbe? Barnes? Goyle?” Once again Harry shook his head.

“The other idiots won’t initiate anything unless Dudley eggs them on. You sure it wasn’t your idi-”

“It was Atkinson.”

Harry makes a point not to look at Ron in the eyes as he took the glasses back from him, a new roll of tape in hands.

“Atkinson.” Ron repeated. Harry just nodded and used his teeth to wrap the strand over the frame. “Atkinson. Jacob Atkinson? Straight A Atkinson? The son of Pastor Atkinson?”

“Yes, Ron!” Harry snapped, his glasses slipped from his fingers and split down the middle once more as they hit the floor. “Fuck!” he hissed and bent down to pick them up again, having to remove the tape because they were covered in hair and god-knows what else.

“Bloody hell….” Ron whistled in disbelief. “What did you do to piss him off that much? I’m pretty sure he’s an active member of Pals of Peace.” Ron didn’t have to remind Harry because he vividly remembered the bright coloured logo on the back of Jacob’s jumper before Harry found himself on the floor.

“It was in maths.” Harry sighed, this time he carefully wrapped his glasses with the tape. “We were taking a quiz and he was sitting in front of me and I thought you told me to ask him about-”

“I’m not in your maths class.”

“I know.” Harry sighed, “You wanted me to ask him about the home swim meet last weekend.”

“Atkinson isn’t on the swim team.”

“I know that now.” Harry groaned. “But I didn’t then and so I asked, and he looked at me all funny. So that’s when you told me-”

“But I wasn’t in your math-”

“I know Ron! Just let me finish!” Harry said exasperated. He almost dropped his glasses again but managed to compose himself. “I heard someone say the name Emma and so I repeated it and that’s when he became all bloody pale and-” Harry bit down on his lip. He was aware that Ron knew where this was going based off of the rapid drain of colour in his cheeks. “I thought he was as confused as I was and I’m bloody stupid, we all know that, and so I heard you say ‘nun babies are the holiest type of babies’ and then Mr. Graham was pulling him off of me,” Harry concluded and shoved his elbow into Ron’s chest to get him to stop gaping at him like that.

“Jesus Harry-- Emma got knocked up by the swim cap-”

“I know Ron! Fucki--I know.” He figured this was the best his glasses were going to get and slid them on. “I know all of that now. No use now is it though?” He had to constantly push the frames against his nose as they continued to slide off. “It just sounded just like you and I didn’t think to even look behind me and I--I don’t know.” He sighed. “I thought it was you.” He said flatly and pulled his backpack out of his locker before throwing it over his shoulder.

“Listen Harry, I get that it’s difficult with all of the voices and everything but why would I tell you to rub his pregnant teenage sister in his face? I swear every time you think it's me you end up doing something--totally bonkers”

“I don’t know Ron.” He was frustrated with both himself and Ron because they really were just going in circles. If he knew why he did it, Harry thought, it would never have happened to begin with. “Let’s just go. I’m already on thin ice with my aunt. I have to get home soon.” Harry was eager to lay all of this to rest and put a cold pack on his eye soon.

The walk home was always a relatively short one, but this weather always made it difficult. If the twins didn’t have football practice, they usually offered him a ride home. But today had not been in Harry’s favour and so he was sure to put his hood on tight enough so it wouldn’t blow away. Today he also had the added burden of holding his glasses back to prevent the rain from knocking them off of his face.

The sound of the rain had been all Harry had been able to hear, but this was the fourth time he heard someone call his name and he was certain someone was messing with him. The voice was just barely audible over the rain but he caught waves of sound. Harry tried to push it out of his head, not in the mood to deal with both voices and a throbbing eye.

_ ‘He was suspended for hitting you y’ know’ _

Harry groaned and covered his ears with his hands, the voices in the rain forgotten.

_ ‘Covering up your ears won’t silence your thoughts, idiot.’ _ A familiar voice echoed in his head. It was usually the same handful of voices that invaded his mind. It was the external voices that mimicked people he knew, which he hated the most. At least these were confined and he knew where the source was coming from.

“Sod off.” Harry hissed, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk because his vision had grown blurred.

_ ‘But I get bored,’ _ the voice responded in the same tone Harry was using and that only made his head hurt more.

“Quit talking to me.” Harry swatted his hands through the air knowing it was futile, but he was desperate to get it to stop.

_ ‘You’re the one talking back.’ _

Harry rolled his eyes and pressed his hands harder against his ears. There was loud chatter as other voices began echoing in his head. They grew louder and incomprehensible, but he was dangerously behind schedule and he began to pick up the pace. The cold crisp air intensified and that was normal during an episode like this, except this time it was raining so Harry couldn’t place the blame on the voices entirely. But then it went painfully silent and Harry had to smack his hands against his ears repeatedly to make sure he hadn’t gone deaf. He couldn’t even hear the sound of his own breathing. Panicked, he snapped his fingers against his ears but heard nothing. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes to try and focus his vision. Although everything was blurred, he could tell it was still pouring but he couldn’t hear the sound of the rain anymore.

Stop it Harry, he repeated to himself, quit imagining things. He shut his eyes tightly and placed a trembling hand against his heaving chest. He was breathing, he was gasping quite frantically but why couldn’t he hear anything? He shook his head to try and expel all the rubbish in there and when he opened his eyes again all he could see for miles was oceans of flames. The concrete burnt beneath him and all the houses and trees had been engulfed. It was a fraction of a second later when his skin began to boil and his glasses began to melt so fast that he dropped them quickly.

“Stop--st-stop.” He felt his chest fill with smoke and his eyes stung from the heat. “Stop!” And everything suddenly became cool again. When he opened his eyes, everything was in focus and his once melted glasses sat perched on his nose as if nothing had ever happened. When had he even gotten home?

Winded, Harry leaned against the porch of the house, his lungs still trying to adjust to the sudden excess of oxygen. He shed his soaking trainer and wrung out all the excess water before he unlocked the front door. Miraculously, no one else seemed to be home and he had just enough time to get dinner ready.

Steering clear of the stove altogether, Harry’s shaken hands pulled produce out of the fridge. He had half-expected to find burn marks on his arms but his skin was clear. He held up a cold pack against his eye and used his free hand to prepare dinner.

Just as he finished fixing the table, the sound of jingling keys filled the room and for the first time in his life, Harry was glad someone else was home. The moment was short-lived.

“Go out and get the bags from the boot.” Aunt Petunia ordered as she kicked off her rain boots and shook off the water from her anorak. “Well, what are you staring at? Go on then!” Harry bit back a response and did as asked, running out the front door to fetch said items. Aunt Petunia had quite a nasty shopping habit, not that she or Uncle Vernon would ever address it in any way. It just bothered Harry that they had the quid to visit the jeweller's every Sunday or enough to buy Dudley new trainers once a week but they couldn’t afford Harry a new pair of glasses more than once every six years.

“Is this some kind of sick joke Potter?” His aunt asked as he set the bags down on the coffee table in the den.

“I thought it was quite chic Aunt Pe-” His witty remark about his black-eye is cut short when he saw what she was actually referring to. No. No, no, Harry thought, there was no way.

“You think this is amusing do you?” She continued, “Think you can mock us like this and get away with it? Well, just you wait.” Her eyes narrowed and Harry’s eyes darted back and forth between her and the dining table.

“Aunt Petunia I really don-”

“Pick this up before Vernon gets home.” Her voice was colder than he had heard in a while. Harry flinched. “Pick it up! Now!” She grabbed the breadbasket from the centre before flinging it at his head. He ducked in time, but a flying loaf smacked him hard in the chest. The green colour was almost as foul as the fuzz that now graced his shirt. Before he could fully recover, his aunt took the salad bowl and flung it across the room. Rotting leaves of lettuce and spoiled tomatoes flew in all directions. The porcelain crashed against the opposite wall and shattered into a million pieces.


End file.
